The Sound of Silence
by DangerMouse
Summary: The Host is having a tough time of it following the events of "This Old Gang of Mine."


The Sound of Silence

By: DangerMouse, The Great Immortal

RATING: PG - a little angst and some self-pity wallowing.

PAIRING: none

SUMMERY: The Host is having a tough time of it following the events of "This Old Gang of Mine."

COPYRIGHT: The Host, Angel, and everything else belonging to somebody else, does. Don't sue me. I'm a college student and therefore have a negative gross income (odd but true!), so it wouldn't really be worth it. Besides, my sister is a kick-ass lawyer, so there. Nee-ner, nee-ner, neee-neer.

FEEDBACK: Feed the author, but flames give me heartburn.

DISTRIBUTION: Just Ask

A/N: I'm figured I'd better get this out before the Host gets his issues resolved (hopefuly soon! I miss the happy-go-lucky little imp!). Very short, ficlet length almost.

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It's just not fair.

It was hard at first, you know? Five years ago, I landed, dazed and confused, in this strange world. People would walk down the streets, whistling tunes, filling my head with their deepest secrets, their most guarded inner-selves. Now, sweetie, if I had been any less of a nice guy, I could have blackmailed the world into my own Manhattan high-rise, with a nice car, great clothes, and tickets to every concert I wanted. Oh, that would have been lovely.

But I didn't do that. No, when I heard these people singing, I didn't hear money falling into my pockets, but the despair in their hearts - a despair that, not long ago, had echoed my own. Back on Pylea, I was considered broken and weird. I wasn't like the other Pylean's - I couldn't joust or track or fight. I would get visions from the sounds the cows made, talked to them, made friends with them. I was an outcast and nobody could understand me. Maybe it was because my life sucked so much on Pylea that I felt this need to help others here.

So, I saved a little money, doing some private performances for small, eclectic clubs ("Yes, sir - the make-up and contacts are part of the act!") and managed to purchase my own little sanctuary - _Caritas_.

Mercy. That's what this place is... or rather, was. A place of Mercy, with a capital "M," kids. Mercy is a complicated concept. It means showing kindness toward the distressed, without ulterior motive, simply because it's right. To do that, one has to accept individuals for what they are, regardless of what they've done or will do.

I loved this place, the conversations with my friends, the music, the drinks. I loved helping people, making a difference in the lives of others, giving hope. Boy, I tell you, I wish I had someone like me around to cheer myself up right about now; someone who was willing to give me some hope. Someone who could read _my_ destiny and tell me if I'm doing the right thing. But there's just me. How lucky.

I shouldn't be feeling this bad about myself. I can't expect people to have understood why this place was different. But it was different. I lost a lot of friends the night Gunn's pals came in here and shot up the place. Kren was going through a period - he was quite a religious demon, never harmed a fly. He got so scared. I know he saw the fear in my eyes that night. That's why he nipped that Gio character's head off. That's why Gunn's other buddy filled him full of lead.

Kren was just scared.

Now don't get me wrong - I got a lot of dangerous and unpleasant folks in my establishment who have done things that would make marmalade curdle, but I don't judge them. That's not my job. How can I fault a baby-eating demon for doing what's natural for him? At least he's honest about it. Humans do much crueler things to their livestock - process it, cut it up, grind it into tiny pieces, and sell it en masse at their supermarkets. They give no consideration for the food they eat, no respect to the animals they kill. I mean, honestly, how highly can you regard a species that uses cartoon versions of the animals they eat to sell their products? Now _that's_ cruel.

I help people. Not because I have to, not because I'm trying to make up for past misdeeds, not even because it's the "right" thing to do. I help people because, well, as silly as it sounds, I want to. I want to help people feel better and find their destinies.

Boy, am I a sap or what?

But none of that really matters anymore. _Caritas_ is gone and I just don't feel like rebuilding right now. And it's my right, isn't it? I'm sorry I'm not able to dispense mystical advice at the snap of a finger at the moment. But why should I? Nobody was making me do it in the first place. If I want to sit on my broken heart and watch reality t.v. shows until my horns turn gray and fall off, it's my prerogative. It's what I _want_ to do... for the time being at least. 

It was nice of Angel-cakes to say that I wasn't a vending machine. And you know what? He's pretty much right. You have to give vending machines something to get something out. I'm more like a cookie jar - you reach in, take out what you want, come back for more, and look surprised when it's empty. I've run out of things to give. I feel empty. And very, very tired.

I'd sing a song about it, but I think it would just make me nauseous.

~fin~


End file.
